


symbiosis

by murakamism



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Kageyama Tobio-centric, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 08:16:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6110564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murakamism/pseuds/murakamism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kageyama doesn’t need anyone. He is entirely self-sufficient. And Hinata is an idiot. Kageyama can’t stand him. He can’t stand seeing all that wasted potential, so he uses it for himself.</p><p>But then sometimes Hinata smiles at him, or says something stupidly inspiring like promising to defeat him after ten or twenty years, and Kageyama thinks that maybe he doesn’t hate the idiot at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	symbiosis

**Author's Note:**

> headcanon that kags doesn't even realize that he's lonely, he's too busy walling himself off to think about that
> 
> but then hinata and the rest of the karasuno team fix that :)

Kageyama doesn’t need anyone. He is entirely self-sufficient.

Karasuno High is a new slate, but it’s more of the same. Volleyball in the morning, go to class, daydream while staring out the window, try not to make eye contact with the teacher, wait for lunch, eat lunch in some quiet spot, count the periods down until the day ends, volleyball, volleyball, go home, eat, bathe, sleep.

Rinse and repeat.

His classmates mostly leave him alone. It’s done in a nicer, quieter way, he supposes. They’re afraid of him, obviously, even though he doesn’t know why—is it his face? It’s not his fault he was born with this face.

Besides, no people talking to him means no people wasting his time.

And besides, people ducking away not to meet his eyes, or his classmates mumbling their way through their conversations with him as if they want to get it done as soon as possible, or even not talking to him at all is a comfortable change of pace. The people at Karasuno are honest and straightforward; Kageyama knows what they think of him. They act the same way in front of him and behind his back.

(No hushed conversations, no piercing laughter, no loud complaining when his back is turned—)

His classmates are all dull or annoying (or both), but then everyone is dull or annoying. Maybe Kageyama doesn’t get the appeal of a rose-colored high-school life full of sleepovers and cute girls and spending all your money to beat your friends at arcade games, but he has volleyball.

He measures time in volleyball games, in volleyball practice. Two more hours until he can leave class and go to the gym. One more day until he can practice his serves on that squeaky gym floor, feel the smack of the ball against his palm, and feel that flutter of pride in his chest when he hits the bottle on the other side of the net.

High school is just another three years he waits to pass. All he cares about is volleyball, volleyball, volleyball.

All he has is volleyball.

And it’s enough, Kageyama thinks. When the lunch bell rings he blinks, his brain switching from half-asleep to more than half-awake. Half of his classmates leave the room. The other half start moving around, sitting next to their friends, or dragging their armchairs around. The chatter erupts all around him—two guys talking about a new video game, three girls laughing at something one of them showed the other two, and someone being teased about what his ideal type is.

Kageyama stands up, bento in his grip and other hand in his pocket, and makes his way quietly out of the room.

The corridors are full of people. Kageyama wishes they would all walk faster, wishes that he could just be alone. By the time he exits the building and steps out into the cool air he sighs, walking a little slower.

He crosses the field (full of students sitting on the grass or playing soccer), ducks through a parking lot (with more circles of students than actual parked cars), and eventually finds his favorite bench.

It’s quiet and secluded. Nobody ever passes here, which he really appreciates. It’s probably the best thing, right next to the fact that it’s cool and shaded underneath a large tree. It had taken him a while to find this place, but it’s all the more worth it.

Kageyama takes a seat, unwraps his bento, and digs into his meal.

All the sounds are muffled here—faraway laughter, a gleeful scream, some rowdy boys playing some sport. The rest of the world is somewhere out there in the distance, just how Kageyama likes it.

It’s better this way. He’d rather be alone.

His lunch break is nice and slow. Today there’s a cool breeze, and he almost falls asleep.

(Everything goes quiet, as if all those other students really didn’t exist, and for some reason it makes Kageyama feel relief)

 

 

A few weeks into his first year of high school, during one of his lunch breaks, he rounds the corner with vending machines and spots a familiar head of orange hair.

Hinata’s busy practicing his receives all through his lunch break. Kageyama shakes his head, thinking _what an idiot_. Has he even eaten? But it’s not Kageyama’s place to do anything. It would be Hinata’s fault if he got too tired or hungry.

Of course, the fact that Hinata actually manages to get people to practice with him is a mystery in itself. Kageyama chances upon him a few times, even comes to expect it every now and then. Sugawara-senpai is kind, but he can’t be _that_ kind to a first year he just met (and who almost got his club into trouble), right?

Well, whatever.

Kageyama takes his milk box and leaves, sipping it up quickly.

Maybe he should help Hinata practice.

For the good of them both.

 

 

Hinata is an idiot.

Kageyama can’t stand him. He can’t stand seeing all that wasted potential, so he uses it for himself.

(But with the way Hinata’s eyes shine after he spikes the ball with his eyes closed, or with the way he lets out an amazed noise, or the way he stares at his palm with wide eyes and then at Kageyama—with all of that it feels like he’s done it for Hinata)

And maybe Hinata had been scared of him at first (he should be; he _sucks_ and he’s so damn _tiny_ ), but he’s not scared of Kageyama the way other people are. When Kageyama yells at him for being a dumbass Hinata yells back. Hinata makes fun of him, with no regard to the way Kageyama shakes him around and pulls at his hair. Hinata races him everywhere. Kageyama races him too because he hates losing, and he’d hate even more to lose to Hinata.

And then sometimes Hinata smiles at him, or says something stupidly inspiring like promising to defeat him after ten or twenty years, and Kageyama thinks that maybe he doesn’t hate the idiot at all.

It’s weird. Hinata is weird. Hinata, who manages to be a magnet for trouble whenever they play a match. Hinata, who sings about peeing. Hinata, who makes friends with _everyone_ , even their opponents. Hinata, who is honest and easily amazed and innocently calls Nishinoya and Tanaka senpai because he admires them that much.

Even though he spends most of his time playing volleyball Kageyama knows that Hinata has friends. Classmates, those from other classes, other years, other schools, childhood friends that he still talks to.

(Hinata is his spiker. Hinata is his rival. This is why Kageyama is so attuned to him, he thinks. Why else would he be?)

Kageyama passes by Hinata’s classroom once during lunch, while he’s heading off to his favorite bench. Hinata’s surrounded by a circle of at least four people. He’s telling a story, complete with wild hand gestures and gleaming eyes. Everyone’s listening to him, or laughing (whether at his story or at Hinata, Kageyama can’t tell).

But it looks cozy. It looks—

Kageyama’s chest constricts and he clenches his hand into a fist. A girl almost walks into him but ducks and apologizes quickly, immediately running away.

Kageyama is not jealous. Why would he be? It makes no sense.

Later that hour, as he’s sitting on the bench and packing away his lunch, he listens for the noise around him and finds none.

Instead of relief he only feels discomfort, and Kageyama desperately wishes he could just skip the rest of the day and go straight to practice.

The background noise of the Karasuno volleyball team is much more soothing than the background noise of this tiny, secluded place.

 

 

Kageyama doesn’t need anyone. He is entirely self-sufficient.

But volleyball is a team sport, and he can’t be in every position at once.

The Karasuno High School Boys’ Volleyball Team is good, he supposes. Tsukishima is still an annoying asshole, but other than that it’s pretty fine. Hinata still sucks at receiving, but he’s improved at blocking and no longer misses spikes. His senpai are kind, if not too energetic (Tanaka and Nishinoya) or occasionally frightening (Daichi).

Practice is all he looks forward to.

And for once, there’s someone who understands his desperate need for volleyball.

Because he’s exactly the same.

Hinata is an idiot, but he loves volleyball as much as Kageyama does (not that Kageyama will ever acknowledge it). Every tiny thing brings Hinata so much joy, and sometimes when he jumps up into the air Kageyama’s afraid the little spiker’s going to land on him and kill them both.

They play game after game. They get better.

And for the first time Kageyama has a team that feels like—

Home.

Karasuno feels like home. It doesn’t feel like his house, which is large and clean and empty and also quiet (sometimes comforting, sometimes suffocating).

When they score a point with that freak quick, Kageyama’s head whips towards Hinata’s without a second thought. Hinata does the same. Their eyes meet—wide, gleaming eyes—and they both scream.

Hinata gives him a jumping high five. Kageyama truly, truly feels invincible. Like he’s on top of the world.

Hinata smiles at him, always grateful for a toss, always willing to chase the ball to the very end.

(Kageyama understands Hinata’s sheer gratefulness to be on a team now. It’s another thing that makes them the same)

 

 

Sometimes Kageyama and Hinata hang out on weekends too. They mostly play volleyball in the park, which Kageyama enjoys more than he wants to admit.

Playing volleyball every day, morning and afternoon and evening, it feels like a good dream.

But it’s real.

Sometimes after they finish Hinata drags Kageyama out to buy food. They argue over what shop to enter, occasionally pool their money when both of them are too broke, and then bicker over something stupid the other one has said or done.

Sometimes Hinata likes to take a big chomp out of Kageyama’s meat bun, so Kageyama eats half of Hinata’s one in return. They end up fighting and yelling and pushing until the store clerk yells at them to get out of his shop front.

It’s weird going home with someone, Kageyama thinks. He hasn’t done this since grade school. Hinata’s capable of being quiet too, and it’s all right. Quiet with Hinata isn’t always weird or suffocating.

They walk down the road in silence, shoulder to shoulder, with nothing but the crunch of their footsteps and Hinata’s bicycle and its creaking wheels.

The sun sets in hues of orange and purple, casting the world in a sleepy light.

Instead of being hollow Kageyama’s chest feels full, almost bursting. It’s an odd sensation, but it’s nice. Hinata is warm at his side.

When they part at the crossroads Hinata grins at him and waves. “See you at practice tomorrow!” he exclaims, getting on his bike. Kageyama nods back, watches the blur of his silhouette as the orange-haired boy begins to pedal up the mountain.

Kageyama turns away as Hinata grows smaller and smaller into the distance.

He wonders if Hinata is his friend.

Or if he even wants to be.

 

 

They have a terrible fight that summer.

A real fight.

Kageyama’s face hurts and his hands sting and his chest _aches_ —it aches so hard that his eyes water and his throat constricts.

He gets home and slams his fist into the kitchen counter, drops his bag on the couch and pulls himself to his room without turning any of the hall lights on.

Does Hinata not trust him? Does Hinata not want to rely on him anymore?

Will he leave Kageyama behind?

Like they all did—

Kageyama’s entire body _shakes_ , and he wishes that he was as heartless as his old team thought he was.

He’s alone. He is self-sufficient.

He doesn’t need anyone.

 

 

It’s strange being alone again after all those months of having Hinata.

It’s almost like he isn’t used to it, almost like he didn’t spend almost three years all by himself.

Summer is hot and sticky and bright. Kageyama thinks of watermelon popsicles and grass stains and playing volleyball to the warm summer breeze.

When he walks home from the park or the gym, he feels unsteady. There’s something missing beside him. It’s too quiet, too still. Nobody jostles him, nobody steals his food, nobody yells at him to toss more balls during the next practice.

Kageyama has always been alone.

This shouldn’t be a problem.

Instead, his chest feels emptier than ever. His body feels heavy and sluggish, and he thinks it’s the summer heat draining all his energy out of him.

When he passes Hinata, he doesn’t say anything. Hinata doesn’t say anything either.

They don’t acknowledge each other.

Kageyama swallows down the bitterness in his throat, the heaviness that settles deep into his bones.

He measures time with volleyball—

But he used to measure it with Hinata too.

 

 

He needs to get better.

Hinata deserves better.

He closes his eyes and presses his fingers flat against the ball. This is for the team, for the game, for volleyball.

Ukai asks him to visualize a spiker. Kageyama only needs to visualize one person.

This is for volleyball and this is for _him_.

The ball spins, comes to a complete stop, and falls.

(Kageyama sees wild eyes and a brilliant smile)

 

 

They make up through volleyball, of course.

They make up because Hinata trusted Kageyama, because Kageyama decided to trust Hinata.

And once they start talking again, it’s like nothing ever changed.

Kageyama fiercely, sincerely tells himself to never get into a fight like that with Hinata ever again.

He thinks about it on the way home, right after Hinata’s left to go back up the mountain. The bus ride home is serene, peaceful. He looks out the window and watches the sun set, watches the summer sky full of orange and purple.

Kageyama isn’t alone.

Because him and Hinata are partners.

And Kageyama may be self-sufficient, but—

He thinks it’s nice to rely on other people too.

 

 

“Hey.”

“Yeah?” Hinata asks. He shovels food from his bento into his mouth. Kageyama frowns, looking at him. The taller boy sets his empty bento next to him on the wooden bench. He leans back, narrows his eyes, and stares hard at the boy next to him.

“What? Why are you glaring?” Hinata asks, shooting him a much less threatening glare back. He chews, swallows, and shoots Kageyama a confused look.

“Are we friends?” Kageyama asks curtly.

Hinata’s eyes widen. He almost drops his chopsticks. Kageyama swallows and flinches, wondering if he’s broken Hinata or something.

“You-You idiot!” Hinata sets his bento down and smacks Kageyama in the arm. Kageyama scowls, feeling his cheeks grow hot with embarrassment and regret and maybe _shame_ , why did he ever ask such a stupid question, of course they aren’t, of course they’re only teammates—

“Of course we are!” Hinata slaps his shoulder. Kageyama smacks his hand away and they almost get into a wrestling match right there.

But Hinata sits up, getting right in Kageyama’s personal space, and the look on his face makes Kageyama freeze and stare back.

Hinata furrows his brows, stares at him seriously.

“Is that what you’ve been sulking about all this time?” he asks. And then quietly, while he grips Kageyama’s wrist, “You’re my friend, and I know I’m yours too.”

Hinata’s tiny hand is surprisingly strong against Kageyama’s much larger wrist.

“A-Ah,” Kageyama says. His throat grows tight and he blinks again and again but Hinata only stares up at him, those large eyes honed in on his face.

“And I think you’re my closest friend,” Hinata continues in a whisper, voice even quieter. As if it’s a secret.

But then he yells out again, because Hinata is all excitement: “Because you’re the only one who likes volleyball as much as I do!”

Kageyama’s lips pull up and his jaw hurts and Hinata’s eyes widen in shock—

And then Hinata grins back.

The lunch bell rings and both of them jolt up. Hinata rushes to re-pack his bento. They hurry off the bench and race towards their classrooms.

Before they part, Hinata says goodbye and says that he’ll see Kageyama at practice.

Kageyama says it back.

Hinata is always grateful for a toss and Kageyama is always grateful for a spike.

If Kageyama has volleyball then he has Hinata, and if he has Hinata then he has volleyball.

It’s all he cares about.

But that’s all right, he thinks.

High school is another three years, but it’s another three years with a team, with a friend, with _Hinata_.

And Kageyama can’t wait.


End file.
